


Nothing to Dread

by Rebcake



Series: Travels with Spike and Dru [15]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Roleplay, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebcake/pseuds/Rebcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Eve a month after Buffy dropped an organ on him, and Spike still isn’t feeling it. Dru has a plan to raise his spirits and hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing to Dread

Christmas would be merry indeed now that Drusilla was the picture of health again. It was all the gift Spike wanted.

Yeah, right.

He gritted his teeth as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the narrow bed, legs refusing to budge. Did vampires get bedsores?

Her return to strength hadn’t gone quite the way he’d imagined. First off, he’d envisioned marathon bouts of shagging to make up for all the months without. Dismaying what a hindrance a little case of paralysis could be for a bloke.

He stared down his body, half hidden under a sheet, and weighed the pros and cons of manual exploration. Pro: through some miracle he might have sensations below the waist today. Merry fucking Christmas. Con: feeling his cock with his fingers and not feeling his fingers on his cock went well beyond disturbing. He wasn’t sure he could face it again. Besides, equipment failure wasn’t the whole of the problem. He could state with confidence that the spirit was willing, and remarkably inventive. He just wasn’t getting enough face time, as it were.

Dru was affectionate enough when she took notice of him, but she wasn’t one to spend hours visiting his sickbed. She was easily distracted, eager to take in the wonders of the Hellmouth. It was understandable. She’d been cooped up and sickly for so long that naturally she’d want to blow off some steam. Didn’t mean he wasn’t missing her and their much anticipated celebratory carnage.

But a family Christmas was in the offing. Dru insisted on having all the trimmings this year: boughs of holly, garlands of ivy, a fat goose — easily procured from the DMV — for Christmas dinner. Was bloody irritating that he couldn’t arrange things for her as usual, though he was curious to see how it would all turn out with Dru in charge.

He was even looking forward to tucking into the DMV lady tomorrow. It had been too long since he’d had anything fresh.

As he was considering the possibilities, Drusilla burst in, pushing a red wheelchair with a heap of smelly rags piled on the seat.

“Merry Christmas, my Spike!” She beamed at him, radiating all the joy of the season.

“What’s this, then, Dru?”

“I wanted to sit on Santa’s lap and whisper all my secrets, but he tried to run.”

“Silly old bugger. Should know when he’s got it good, eh my darling?”

“Yes, he ought. And since he hadn’t any feet, he was very stupid to run. All fall down,” she sing-songed, dancing about the room.

He smiled at her. It was wonderful to see her happy and predatory again. She spun over to him, grasped him under the arms and lifted him from beneath the sheet and into a sitting position.

“You shall be my Father Christmas, Spike. You always have the best Christmas surprises.”

“Ah, poodle. I’m afraid I can’t make much of a Christmas for you ‘til I’m more myself.”

“Silly Spike. I have all you need.”

She snatched up the pile of rags, and pawing through them came up with a pair of stained red velveteen trousers, trimmed in grimy white faux fur. She shook them out and proceeded to stuff Spike’s legs into them.

“Uh, Dru. Really don’t think this is necessary…”

“I’ve brought you a robe, and a crown, and a throne.”

She threw a tatty Santa tunic and hat on the bed next to him. Judging by the odor, the “Santa” she’d rolled for all this stuff was a rummy, in addition to his other failings. She trundled the wheelchair over to the bed and threw the wheel locks into place. Spike eyed it with trepidation. She quickly finished dressing him, leaving the tunic hanging open and pulling the trousers up at the last minute before dumping him in the chair. She rummaged around for his boots and jammed them on his feet, which she placed on the footrests with some care. She secured his legs in place with the wide black belt, placed the hat on his head, then stood back to survey her handiwork with satisfaction.

He considered pitching a fit, but she looked so pleased. He decided the scenario had its possibilities.

“Come here, little girl.” He patted his lap and threw his arms wide. “Tell Santa what you want for Christmas.”

Her eyes shone with girlish excitement. She perched daintily on his knees and opened her mouth to tell him her Christmas dreams. He stopped her with a finger to her lips.

“Ah, ah. First, tell me — have you been a good girl? Or a bad, wicked girl?”

She considered this seriously.

“I’ve tried to be a good girl. I’ve taken good care of my dollies. I’ve fed them, and cleaned them, and chastised them when they were naughty. I’ve tried to eat all my supper, and hardly ever sneak pudding before tea,” she explained with a guileless expression.

“I see. You do sound like a very good girl.” She beamed at him. “Wonder, though, if you’ve been as virtuous as you ought? Perhaps you’ve let a fellow be too free with you, hmm?”

Her eyes grew large, and she shook her head vigorously.

“No? Haven’t let a likely lad steal a kiss? Like this?” He cupped her cheek and brushed his lips across hers. He nipped at her pouting mouth. Her eyes closed and she shivered in pleasure.

He trailed a finger down her neck, whispering in her ear. “Haven’t let anyone put his hands where they oughtn’t go?” He unbuttoned her blouse, peeling the fabric back, inch by inch, caressing the skin as it came into view. She whimpered. He slipped his hand inside to cup her breast, forefinger and thumb giving her nipple a tweak. She gasped and began to squirm. 

“Haven’t had anybody put his mouth to work on you? Licking and sucking your pretty little tits?” He brushed the blouse aside and began to demonstrate, alternately worshipping one sweet jewel with his tongue and pinching its mate with his fingers. She moaned and pressed her chest into his touch. Without her seeming to notice, her knees fell apart.

“Haven’t got distracted and found that someone has managed to roll your stockings down?” She trembled as he eased a hand under her skirt, lightly skimming upward from ankle to thigh, stopping to caress the back of her knee. He found the top of one stocking, and ran a finger all around the inside, loosening it before gently folding it down, careful not to snag it. With only a little difficulty, he eased her shoe off and pulled the stocking after it. He reacquainted himself with her delectable breasts for a few moments before going back to bare the other leg with equal care.

He took stock. Her mouth was open and panting, blouse falling off her shoulders, nipples pert and shiny, skirt rucked up above her knees. She was writhing with need in his lap. It was definitely putting him in a holiday mood. He circled a couple of fingers around her knee.

“Haven’t let anyone inside your knickers, have you precious?”

“Oh, no. Not in ever so long,” she gasped.

He smiled and stroked his way up her thigh. Up, up, up to the treasure he sought, only to find, to his delight…

“No knickers, you naughty girl!”

She nodded. “No one can get into them, that way.”

“Minx.” He gave her bottom a firm swat, before returning to swirl his fingers through her slippery juices. She squealed once, subsiding into moans as he stroked her folds. He steadily teased her, circling her clit, inserting just a fingertip into her opening, spreading her moisture back to her pucker. She twisted so that her back was pressed to his chest, her head thrown back. Her knees rose to hook over the arms of the chair.

He rhythmically plucked at a nipple and rubbed her nub more intently. When she began keening, he turned his head to whisper into her ear.

 _"And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose._ "

He plunged two fingers into her, twisting them and letting his thumb run back and forth across her clit. She jerked and wailed in his arms, rocking the chair and testing the limits of its wheel locks.

Once she subsided, he turned her in his lap, stroked her hair and kissed her face. She was radiant and replete, just as he’d been wishing to see her for longer than he could remember.

“You’ve been a _very_ good girl, I think.” His eyelids fluttered as he licked his fingers clean.

She smiled up at him. “Oh, yes. And Father Christmas has given me just what I wanted.”

“Always will, Dru. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Spike. Shall we go for a ride in your sleigh?”

Suddenly, he realized that he was no longer confined to bed. He felt his spirits soar, followed by a faint stirring in his groin. Best. Christmas. Ever.

He threw off the brakes, and down the hallway they flew, like the down of a thistle.

 _FIN_


End file.
